That Which Flows Unseen, Part II by M. Everett Hinckley © 1988
Cave walls, slick and hellish,
turbulent waters begin to flow,
At the helm of the raft, or so I think,
A seething miasma and fog did grow.
Whirling, whirling,
Out of control,
I touched her tender cheek,
Whirling, whirling,
Give rise to cacophony,
Of hissing and outrage, the walls reek.
Where all is turned up side down,
Veins in my temples, throb wildly with blood,
And those who challenge fear,
The terror has just begun.
There's a sound I'm hearing,
More seductive than a whisper,
There are lovely eyes of jade,
Shimmering with longing cold,
There is a relentless heart,
Which pumps it's heat,
Through her gentle flesh that,
Come hell or brimstone, I must hold.
Head spinning,
Out of control,
Fair nymph begins to fret,
Head spinning,
River swells,
Such confusion I've never met.
The serpent tightens his grip,
My dry throat cracks,
He glares accusingly and hisses,
Sweet maiden don't look back.
And all at once, in atonal mixtures,
Of cacophony and snake hiss,
My nymph lets go my newly taken hand,
With her cry, all is amiss.
As we part in company,
She musters one last inquisitive stare,
To see if I possess the warmth,
In my head longing, she sees its not there.
There is a sound I'm hearing,
More seductive than a whisper,
There are lovely eyes of jade,
Shimmering with longing cold.
There is a relentless heart,
Which forever pumps it's heat,
Through gentle, warm flesh that,
Come hell or brimstone, I must hold.
I see a figure in the darkness,
I feel talons sink in my skin,
Wet lips caress and warm matter flows,
The snake, coiled about my throat, leads me in.
